


Like a Dance with Fire

by Sleepless_Malice



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bonfires, Gift Fic, Graphic edit included, M/M, Pre-Darkening of Valinor, Rituals, Seasonal Festivities (not Christmas), Sexual Content, Tolkien Secret Santa, Vala/Elf porn, Valinor, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:35:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21722332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sleepless_Malice/pseuds/Sleepless_Malice
Summary: Celegorm is invited to participate in the seasonal festivities of Oromë and his hunters he had been so fascinated with as a child.Written for Tolkien Secret Santa 2019 on tumblr.
Relationships: Celegorm | Turcafinwë/Oromë
Comments: 13
Kudos: 35
Collections: Tolkien Secret Santa 2019





	Like a Dance with Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aruthla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aruthla/gifts).



> The festivities described in this story are loosely based on the so-called "Perchtenläufe", which are typical for the very Southern parts of Germany, Austria, Switzerland during December (I grew up there) - obviously, the drinking is based on this too. Quite a lot of people who have participated in these runs during their early years of adulthood told me that they were drunk most of the time.
> 
> More infos: [Perchten](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pre-Christian_Alpine_traditions%20Perchten)
> 
> _Dear Aruthla,_  
>  _I am your Secret Santa this year. Let me tell you something: you gave me a very hard time with your choice of requests. Not because I didn't like them, not at all - quite the contrary was the case. I had such a hard time to decide for one pairing because all three spoke equally to me. In the end, I decided for Oromë/Celegorm and I hope you'll enjoy this little something._  
>  _Whether you celebrate Christmas, or something else, or nothing at all ... HAPPY HOLIDAYS and ENJOY YOUR WELL-DESERVED DAYS OFF_

**Like a Dance with Fire**

*

[ ](https://ibb.co/Zhs9qm4)

*

*

The air was thick with strange magic.

The scent of burnt wood and herbs drifted with the breeze. Above Celegorm’s head, the leaves swayed in a silent whisper before drums chased away the eerie silence.

Dogs barked whilst they chased each other across the glade, excited by the thundering sound of drums and the flames of bonfires. Celegorm could feel Huan’s sudden restlessness beside him. The desire to join his friends in a playful hunt was palpable. Celegorm released him, ruffling the dog’s thick fur in a silent gesture of good-bye.

With Huan gone, Celegorm noticed for the first time how nervous he truly was. He still could not believe that he was part of this.

He had been familiar with the tradition of the Dance of Fire all his life – but only as an avid spectator on the streets of torch-lit Tirion. Many years ago, when he was still a toddler barely able to stand on his own feet, his father had explained to him the basic concept of the festivities: originally designed to chase lingering evil thoughts and spirits away and beg for an easy winter.

None of his father’s words of explanation, vivid as they might have been, had prepared Celegorm for what he saw that night. He who was so fearless even then had been truly scared by the grim and gruesome masks the performers wore. He, already infamous for his recklessness at the age of three, had been scared by the sound of the drums that filled the night. As a result, he had partly hidden behind his father’s leg, yet still had peered out with wide and shining eyes, unable to look away.

So he had been told by his mother. Not that it was necessary, as Celegorm remembered that day as if it were yesterday. When they came home and sat down around the fire in the open hearth, Celegorm couldn’t find peace or rest, still overwhelmed by what he had seen.

_‘Why?’_

_‘Who are they?’_

He had asked or rather interrogated his parents.

_‘No, no, no, more who is who – and why?’_

There were many different characters in the rites. Some were fair as the dawn of the day, others frightening and ugly in a way that it was impossible to describe, equipped with grim masks, noses appearing to have been broken and poorly set. Their bodies were clad in ragged fur with huge bells attached to sturdy leather belts bound around their waists. Some characters resembled the spirits of the forest and the earth, whilst others represented birds with long wooden beaks and ruffled feathers, and still others nasty witches, lacking any quality of handsomeness and beauty.

Neither of his parents had an answer to such detailed questions as Celegorm had posed from the beginning, obsessing over the topic for many days.

*

“Tell me, Tyelkormo – when did you fall in love with me?” Oromë asked one night in spring, voice low and full of tease.

“At the age of three.” Whilst Celegorm was still laughing about the ridiculousness of his answer, Oromë’s lips sealed over his, hot and demanding and Celegorm spoke no more. 

Later, with his chest hot and sweaty pressed against the Vala’s own, words came back to him and he told Oromë about his childish infatuation with the Dance of Fire; about the way he had gotten on the nerves of all his family about every little detail about it and that he had never missed a performance.

“Endearing.”Oromë kissed the top of Celegorm’s head.

“Don’t mock me.”

Oromë ignored him. 

“Soon, winter will be upon us again and the festivities will begin anew. By chance, are you interested to join?” 

The Vala’s eyes sparkled in the twilight, in a way that rendered Celegorm speechless but not quite _._

“Do not mock me,” he said again, this time much weaker than before.

Oromë wove his fingers into Celegorm’s hair, pulling so that Celegorm’s throat was revealed to the Vala’s mouth. 

“I do not. My words were said in seriousness, and I will not repeat them again. Make your decision, but do it now.”

In moments like these, Celegorm could stare at Oromë for hours; the twitch of a smile, the way the Vala regarded him with bright eyes as if he was the most marvelous being roaming the earth.

Naturally, Celegorm accepted the invitation and so it came to pass that he joined Oromë and his hunters in the festivities. He hid the truth of his whereabouts from his family as best as he could, sensing that at least his father would not approve. Maedhros most likely had drawn his own conclusion about it long ago but kept his silence like a well-trained dog. Sometimes, Celegorm wondered how his eldest brother managed to keep track of all his siblings’ secrets and not once mess them up.

The preparation for the festivities was nothing like Celegorm had imagined it to be. There had been practice for the choreography, yes. Meetings to craft and fit the costumes of each participant, too – but each and every meeting ended in a giant drinking orgy to an extent that Celegorm suspected getting publicly drunk was the main purpose of the festivities in the first place. He was genuinely shocked by such carnal motives, remembering his sincere fascination as a child.

But then, Celegorm was no stranger to being half-dead from thirst whilst already drunk and so after the initial shock, he happily drank the nights away with them.

Still, he was beyond excited when the great day finally arrived. They met deep in the forest on the outskirts of Tirion. A secluded glade served as a perfect spot for their gathering, illuminated by giant bonfires, flames leaping high up into the sky.

Celegorm scanned his surroundings, but Oromë was nowhere to be seen. Instead, his gaze fell on several barrels of winter wine. There was something to smoke too, the smell of burnt weed unmistakably present in the air. 

Celegorm shook his head in wonderous amazement – there was something utterly down to earth to Oromë and the Maia who follow him; their jokes were of the same crude humor that Celegorm loved best; their love for food and drinks surpassed even his own; yet what still startled him most of all was their desire for the needs of the flesh. Celegorm wouldn’t call it love, simply for the fact that he harbored an aversion to that word. Most probably it wasn’t more than loose dalliances. Never before had it been more obvious than now.

Several nods of acknowledgment were all the greeting he received before one of Oromë’s hunters gestured for him to follow. He was surprised that it wasn’t Tilion, the Maia in Oromë’s company he was closest to, but just as Oromë himself, Tilion was not present – or Celegorm simply did not recognize him among those already fully dressed.

The preparation was a tedious affair. Celegorm sat down where he was told before the hunter braided Celegorm’s hair in the messiest way possible, attaching little bells to each and every strand whilst drinks were being offered by another Maia, already swaying on his feet. Next, a herbal salve was applied to Celegorm’s bare arms and legs, right below the hem of his fur coat.

“The green ointment,” the Maia told him. “A very important part of tonight.”

Celegorm didn’t exactly listen, counting the number of empty glasses already scattered on the floor around him with his fingers, before roaring laughter filled the glade upon a joke that rendered even Celegorm speechless.

But the laughter died in the back of Celegorm’s throat as quickly as it had arisen, the exact moment when Oromë at last stepped into the glade, clad in all his ugly glory.

A wooden mask in the form of a skull covered his face except for his eyes and mouth, with horns attached to it whilst most other parts of his body were naked. Celegorm’s mouth fell open and his heart was beating faster, realizing that Oromë’s fána was much larger than his usual form. With the help of Tilion, who trailed behind the Vala, Oromë had transformed into a wild beast with bells around his feet, adorned by red and blue paint in intricate patterns on his bare arms, muscles taut and flexing. By now, Celegorm had laid his eyes upon the Vala’s naked skin at least a thousand times yet it was as if he’d never seen Oromë before.

Celegorm wanted to resist – or at least hesitate but he moved into Oromë’s direction as if enchanted – and perhaps he was. Green ointment sounded quite treacherously magical.

_Wild,_

_and dangerous._

_Reckless._

_‘Such dalliances are like a dance with fire,’_ Maedhros had warned him, yet night after night Celegorm danced in the forest, skin burning brightly like the bonfires as if there was no tomorrow.

And perhaps there wasn’t –

In Oromë’s arms, it didn’t matter –

– in Oromë’s arms, he came alive.

Standing before Oromë on shaking legs and looking upwards from charcoaled lids, he felt like a child again.

“My Lord,” Celegorm said, quite breathless and it was as if all the crowd has fallen silent the moment Oromë had stepped into their midst. Or was it simply a trick of Celegorm’s fogged mind? The alcohol and salve had undeniably an effect on him but not so much that he’d miss the way Oromë regarded him.

A smile twitched at the Vala’s mouth, speaking of promises and secret invitations, but otherwise, Oromë kept his silence as he so loved to when they were alone. Instead of speaking, the Vala sank down to his knees right before Celegorm so that their eyes were level. He laid his hand upon Celegorm’s shoulder and Celegorm mimicked the gesture, the tiny hairs on his neck standing on edge.

From there, Oromë’s hand wandered to the back of Celegorm’s neck where he tangled his fingers in Celegorm’s hair, pulling him in roughly for a kiss.

The leaping bonfires with flames soaring high up into the air, the thrumming music, and everybody else around them didn’t matter anymore. Not when he was being kissed like this. 

When Celegorm opened his eyes again, he found Tilion sprawled against another hunter’s chest, fingers twined and exploring. It’s not as if he had never seen it before; such behavior was quite common after a successful hunt. Nevertheless, it appeared new and foreign with his senses heightened to such things. Colors became more vibrant with every moment that passed until the world drowned in a sea of color; the music shook his very bones, and the once gentle breeze transformed into a chilly wind upon his skin. He was cold and at the same time, his skin seemed to burn beneath Oromë’s touch as if a thousand tiny fires smoldered within his body.

The world stood still for a moment, as their lips met again and Oromë lifted Celegorm off his feet, whirling him about in a genuine fit of sudden happiness. The Vala’s behavior was addictive, it had always been. Although Celegorm had tried it countless times, there was of no use trying to predict what Oromë would do or say next and was exactly this unpredictability that made Celegorm’s heart flutter.

Celegorm wasn’t made to spend a life in boredom,

Wasn’t made for a routine of any kind.

The thrill of the chase;

The wildness of the hunt.

The smell of sweat and sex; being surrounded by the elements with dirty hands and feet- that was what he lived for without ever tiring of it, hoping that he would never fall from the Vala’s favor.

Celegorm sat back on his heels when Oromë told him to. Then, the Vala began to paint streaks of blood-red color upon Celegorm’s face and arms, matching the patterns to his own. Eyes falling shut from the sensation, Celegorm could all too readily imagine Oromë pushing down onto him, leaving his mark on his tanned skin. There’d be time to bring such fantasies to life later, or so at least Celegorm hoped.

*

Night arrived with an extraordinary spark of gold in the sky.

It was time to go. Wine-skins were filled to the brim before everyone donned the mask, tail or heavy belt with bells attached to it. Dogs joined into the sudden sound of drums and flutes barking loudly. And then, as the torches were lit, burning red, green, and gold a shiver went down Celegorm’s spine. The colors were a sight to behold, perhaps a trick of his drunken mind – or maybe not? He knew from his father’s forge that chemicals could change the color of the flame. 

Walking presented a challenge of its own. Like all the rest, Celegorm was drunk, swaying no matter how hard he tried not to. But was it really that? Each step felt as if he was walking on clouds, an effect that drink did not usually present him with. The other obstacle was someone repeatedly slapping the back of his thigh with his fake tail and bundle of brushwood. With the masks, it was impossible to distinguish who it was.

“For fuck's sake, stop it,” Celegorm lashed out after a while tolerating the annoyance. “Though everyone needs the luck that comes with a demon’s slap, I certainly don’t need its promised fertility.”

The laughter the remark provoked was like roaring thunder.

“You’ll never know,” Tilion told him with glittering eyes.

Celegorm grabbed the Maia by his collar. “Shut up now, will you?”

As a matter of fact, Tilion did not. In fact, the Maia could never hold his silence, clearly loving the sound of himself. Why would Celegorm need fertility when he fucked the god of fertility sometimes thrice a day?

The last light of the mingling transformed Tirion’s skyline in the distance into a surreal sight, tinting its white walls looming high up into the sky in both silver and gold. As they continued to walk towards it the shadows continued to lengthen, giving way to the eagerly awaited light of the night. A cold wind raced through the streets and alleys as if to herald the upcoming winter, waiting to be chased away by torches and screams.

The streets were packed with spectators. Anticipation and excitement were visible on their fair faces, certainly matching Celegorm’s own. He was clearly one of them, yet in the company of Oromë’s hunters, he never felt so estranged from them.

And so it all began.

Each performer joined in the chorus of ferocious screams, the dance of whirling tails and torches. Each and every movement, each shout of them was accompanied by a thousand cheering yells. As a simple spectator, Celegorm had never realized how those performing were regarded from the elves behind the barriers. It was way more than simply staring. The glances were leering as if to undress the performers with eyes alone, challenging them for another slap of luck and fertility.

Had he leered the same way, Celegorm wondered – and more importantly, had Oromë realized, just as he did now? Perhaps…

Celegorm’s cheek went hot. Had he truly been so predictable – and more importantly, was he still? Deep inside he knew the answer: yes, and yes. But there wasn’t time to dwell on such thoughts, being pushed forward by those following behind.

He wasn’t physically interested in any of the spectators yet he delivered the desired slaps with his bundle of brushwood, growled sarcastic remarks in their direction (towards leering Curufin he spat an especially nasty one that earned him much applause from those standing nearby), and screamed and yelled until his lungs almost forsook him.

Breathless from the never-ending chase through the torch-flanked streets of Tirion, blinded by the leaping flames he felt exhaustion took its toll; it was not unlike a hunt, in which he occasionally struggled to keep up with those that weren’t of his kind.

The same adrenaline he experienced during the hunt raced through Celegorm’s veins and somehow it was the same secret chase with an equal reward awaiting him at the end of the day, or so at least he hoped.

Throughout the night his eyes had been drawn towards Oromë in all his might; glances that were far from shy but carefully guarded nevertheless. As accepted their strange relationship was in the company of Oromë’s hunters, it really should not become common knowledge. So he kept his distance as best as he could.

At one point, everything became a hazy blur, with the faces of the spectators melting and shapeshifting into an indistinct crowd. The cheering noise mixed with the hunters’ screams, the torchlight with the sparks of light Celegorm saw exploding in the sky, the snarls of whips with the whacking noises of the bundle of brushwood. Wholeheartedly, Celegorm embraced the strange state of his mind, becoming one with the sensation until suddenly their performance ended.

Outside of Tirion the roar of the celebrating crowd finally dulled, then all noise faded away; the music and the voices, a moment of silence before the chirping of the cicadas and the sounds of the forest arose in the distance. Only then it was that Celegorm realized just how heavy his legs were and that his chest was painfully tight from the endless screaming.

From the silence, the sound of his name emerged.

Celegorm had not heard Oromë approach. He spun around towards the sound, feeling his knees go week by the sight of the Vala. The paint of his body was smudged from perspiration, his silver hair a tousled mess and yet – or rather because of it, Celegorm grew hard.

Oromë stepped forward, then leaned in to whisper in Celegorm’s ear. “You did well.”

Celegorm’s face lit up, having always been weak to Oromë’s praise. The hot breath on the shell of his ear made Celegorm heartbeat speed up, as did the smell of Oromë’s skin. He wished that everybody else would be gone already, so greedy was he.

Huan followed them back into the forest like a giant shadow; like a guardian – and perhaps he was. Undeniably he was the only one sober that night, the childish giggles of them all spoke volumes. Once inside the forest, they all scattered in different directions like a disturbed flock of birds until only Huan and Oromë remained at his side.

“Hush now, Huan,” Celegorm said with a certain annoyance, a voice growling through the trees at the edge of the forest. “Fetch yourself dinner.”

Huan sat and inclined his head. Celegorm groaned in frustration. “Hush now,” he told the dog again, shooing him with his hands away. “Begone.”

With a loud bark of both regret and joy, Huan leaped into the darkness.

Oromë laughed. “Some would call you ungrateful …”

Celegorm spun around, glaring. “In contrast to you, I don’t like being watched.”

It was only partly true and Oromë knew it well. “Is that so?”

Celegorm fell for Oromë’s tease. So had it always been, even when he had merely dreamt – or rather fantasized – about being pressed between Oromë and a tree at the age of sixteen. Later, he had discovered that his dreams had lacked much vibrancy and depth.

*

With Huan gone and the forest wrapping its shadows around their hot and sweaty bodies, it was just them, their dreams, and their desires that remained. Their body language spoke of impatience, their touches of greediness and Celegorm felt his blood running through his veins, hot and feverish.

Just like back then, when first they clandestinely met, Oromë took hold of Celegorm’s hand and guided him toward the emerald pools, fed by hot springs. Hunters weren’t gentle creatures; Celegorm felt teeth against his skin, hands clawing.

Fur and clothes and tingling bells all gone by now, Oromë raised his hands to remove his mask. “Don’t – “ Celegorm interrupted quickly, stilling the Vala’s hands.

Oromë raised an eyebrow.

Sudden nervousness tinted Celegorm’s voice, of the kind he so much hated. “Just don’t – please?”

When they were like this, naked like on the day he was born, Oromë was strangely cooperative to Celegorm’s pleas and desires. “As you wish.” Something shifted in Oromë’s expression, something Celegorm could not quite figure out apart from the darkness in the Vala’s eyes, the spark of mischief.

He didn’t question, didn’t comment. Not as Oromë kissed him with fury; not as he lifted him onto his lap, positioning him just as it felt right. Oromë’s lips were still stained from the wine they had drunk before, resembling Huan’s bloody fangs after a successful hunt and Celegorm was tempted to lick it away but instead met him in another ferocious kiss as his body rocked against the Vala. Even then, after all the times it amazed Celegorm how free and wild – just like him, Oromë became when courtly dictates mattered not.

Fucking on the mossy ground wasn’t out of the ordinary for them. In fact, so it had all begun between them, back when mentorship became something else. As they rolled and laughed in the damp grass, Celegorm had felt sudden hesitation as their bodies came closer and closer together. There had been a pause of realization, on both sides and then Oromë’s hands had wrapped around Celegorm’s own, the unspoken question remaining in the Vala’s eyes.

_Yes!_

It all seemed so long ago.

Oromë’s body was scorching, the heat of him so intense that fresh sweat began to form on Celegorm’s skin.

Oromë smirked at him. 

“You should have told me about your desires before.”

“I – “ As he was shifted forwards, the words died on Celegorm’s lips.

He didn’t need encouragement, knew what Oromë expected, knew exactly what he himself wanted, despite drowning in a sea of emotions. Celegorm whimpered and yet forced his body to stillness until large hands gripped his hips tightly, urging him to start moving.

It wouldn’t be the first time that he was bruised the morning after, and it wouldn’t be the last time being manhandled like this, getting him rock-hard within seconds. As feisty and rebellious Celegorm usually was, in Oromë’s strong arms he was like molten wax. In fact, Oromë’s new form, far larger than he had ever been, only intrigued Celegorm further. The difference in size was striking; Oromë felt like a giant and he like a tiny doll. He couldn’t quite tell where pleasure ended and pain began when Oromë pushed inside, but the fact was he wanted it all and knew well that the night had just begun - Oromë’s stamina was legendary.

A low moan escaped Oromë’s throat as Celegorm set a steady pace, rocking back and forth so tantalizingly slow for the simple reason to be scolded with hands and teeth. Tonight, he did not have to wait long for feral growls of admonishment against his skin and Celegorm was pleased.

Silver hair spilled forward from behind Oromë’s mask, torchlight slanting shadows across his painted arms, tightly wrapped around Celegorm’s body to support his movements, otherwise lost in bliss. On the verge of exhaustion, Celegorm didn’t give himself time to dwell on the sight. His hand slid up Oromë’s back, scratching along his spine in the way he has learned the Vala loved it best, before he buried his face in Oromë’s neck, half sobbing, half screaming until his eyes ran out of tears and his throat was raw.

“I warn you,” Oromë grunted, pressing Celegorm flush against his chest.

Celegorm smiled against the Vala’s skin in silent triumph.

When the sensation took hold of him, when he felt as if he couldn’t take any more, he bit into the skin right below Oromë’s ear. He’d done so before, at the very beginning of their relationship to figure out if the Vala’s blood was any different to his own. (As a matter of fact, it wasn’t).

Admonishment came as a fierce slap against his buttocks, hard enough to have Celegorm screaming. “I told you not to, and yet you did.”

Celegorm made a face. “I’m terribly sorry.”

“No, you are not,” Oromë laughed, brushing a wayward strand out of Celegorm’s face. “And I’m thankful that you aren’t. Go on now, will you, perhaps a bit faster than before?”

 _‘Or do I have to make you?’_

Oromë did not say it -didn’t have to say it, as Celegorm knew it well, often silently provoked it by his behavior. Tonight, he did not.

Ancient syllables of contentment danced like whispers danced upon Celegorm’s skin, interchanging with the gentle brush of fingertips that only added to the sensation Oromë brought. Parts of the words he understood, having learned much in the presence of Oromë’s company but even if he didn’t – the intonation itself spoke volumes.

“Aldaron,” Celegorm’s voice cracked the moment he tumbled over the edge, all energy draining from his body, until the Vala’s name became a chant in this magical night.

*

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thanks to [Grundy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grundy/pseuds/Grundy) for beta reading this story for me <3


End file.
